The Actress' Lines
by Alderaani Writers' Guild
Summary: When Wynsa "Syal Antilles" Starflare goes against Major Fel's advice and visits the 18worst err.. 181st, things get interesting...
1. Default Chapter

The Actress's Lines   
  
By: Alderaani Writer's Guild  
  
Disclaimer: Hey! News flash here: We're not Stackpole and Lucas and we dont  
claim to be. We're not getting paid so don't make us bite you! ::CHOMP::  
  
  
Chapter 1  
  
Wynssa Starflare strode down the corridor to the 181st office with mixed   
feelings. While her giddy step and broad smile propelled her foreword, glad   
tidings crashing in her ears, she was also well aware of Soontir's emphatic   
warning against visiting him at work. Perhaps it went against her better   
judgment to press on, but she was aflame with good news: she had been asked   
to attend the 26th Emperor's Circle Annual Holodrama Awards where she was   
TWICE nominated for best actress in both Gone With the Rebellion, a picture   
about "rebel" atrocities, and The Bridges of Aldera County, where some   
strange screenwriter explored the romance in falling apart historic bridges   
on Alderaan. The only problem was that going sans escort was social suicide.   
She had hoped her dear 'Tir would take care of this trivial detail. She   
realized, of course, that he may decline, preferring to avoid the spotlight   
as much as possible in his typically humble fashion. Nevertheless, the   
adrenaline of the moment catapulted Wynessa beyond these adverse   
possibilities, and she arrived at the 181st HQ with confidence. After all,   
she thought, if they gave her trouble, that was where her dead-on shot and   
hold-out blaster came into play. She paused at the door to the shockingly small   
office, and drew a breath, preparing to do   
what she did best: Act.  
  
"Excuse me," Starflare began coyly, "But could you tell me where I   
might find a Major Fel?"  
There was a flight officer standing behind the desk with his back to   
Wynssa. "Look," he began patronizingly, securing the file he'd been searching  
for, "You really shouldn't be he-" The file's contents fluttered to the floor   
as he came face to face with his goddess, Wynssa Starflare. "You, um, REALLY   
shouldn't be worried about it, I've got you covered, Miss Starflare."  
A flush spread slowly across his face as he began clacking at the keys of   
the console. "I'm a huge fan, you know..."  
"Aww..." said Wynssa smiling broadly, "Aren't you sweet! Here, let me   
get these for you," she offered, scooping the file off the floor.  
The flight officer began to hyperventilate, certain he would pass out when   
she bent over. "Ma-Major Fel is, um, uh...H-he's on patrol. He should be back   
in about an hour..."  
"Oh, I can wait here if I may. I won't disturb you?"  
"Of course not, ma'am. By the way, I'm Flight Officer-," as Wynssa   
shook his extended hand, he realized he had no idea who he was. "Umm...I seem   
to have   
forgotten," he glanced at his ID, "Adrian Zaerece!" he cried triumphantly.  
She offered him another winning smile. Adrian was gathering the courage to   
offer her coffee when a gruff, resounding voice filled the office.  
"You should be working, Zaerece. Who's in there?"   
"Um, no one really, Colonel Derricote, Sir. Only a woman looking for Major   
Fel, Sir."  
"Well, he's on patrol, so I guess she'll just have to. . ." He walked  
into the receiving area and was unable to finish his sentence. Although she   
had not bothered to do anything particularly spectacular with her hair or   
makeup and wore only a simple, earth-tone, fairly short and fairly tight   
dress, she was still breathtakingly beautiful. He got the feeling she could   
wear rags and still be beautiful. In fact, some nice revealing rags would   
look very becoming on her...  
"And what brings a woman of your, ah, caliber to our humble fighter   
bay?" he queried with a revised tone of voice.   
"I'm looking for Major Soontir Fel. I was told he'll be back from   
patrol in an hour and I was wondering if I could wait for him?" Wynessa said   
this with beautiful composure while taking a critical look at the portly,   
soil and oil stained, greedy-eyed, aging Derricote.  
"What do you need him for, miss...?" He waited for her to offer her   
name.  
By this time, approximately all the members of the 181st who were not   
simming or on duty were staring at Wynssa. Zaerece took some comfort in the   
fact that Derricote was drooling over the woman just as badly as he had been.  
"Wynssa Starflare. I was wondering if he'd be able to accompany me to  
the Vaders this year."  
Derricote attempted to regain his composure, but this revelation shocked him   
immensly. Never before had he met a holovid actress -- a real holovid actress!   
"I don't see any problems with him attending," Derricote began, picturing   
pages of 181st publicity, "Let me just be sure he doesn't have any patrols   
that day. . ."  
"The twenty-third."  
"Yes, of course, the twenty-third. Hmm, he has a patrol." Publicity,   
Derricote, publicity, he thought. "But let me just change things a bit. There!   
He can have the days before and after off," the CO stated, giving himself a   
few extra patrols. I'll dump them on someone later, he thought.  
"Thank you so very much, sir. I was so worried he wouldn't be able   
to come," Wynssa gushed, genuinely relieved.  
Derricote smiled smuggly, hoping for favors in the event Fel's charm   
over Starflare terminated. "I'm certain you don't want to wait here until he   
comes off duty, so perhaps I can show you around a bit?"  
"Why, I'd love that." She smiled enchantingly.  
Derricote led her into an adjoining room and attempted to call some wandering   
members of the 181st wing to attention with dismal results. A few turned   
around to face him, Phennir, a Captain and a new addition to the unit,   
snapped to full military attention, several ignored the command all together,   
and a recruit asked what attention was. Derricote sighed, realized that his   
attempt was an a dismal failure and left Phennir at attenton, quickly   
escorting Wynessa to the next room without further ado.  
In this room, clearly a simming bay, TIE pods minus the solar side   
panels were mounted in rows with a central holographic display in the center.  
The air was filled with the noise of the comm traffic and laser blasts a  
ssociated with the "battle".  
"Here is our simulator room. We do most of our training here. Right   
now, the 2/181st is simming a battle against Corellian pirates in various   
types of mismatched craft. Admittedly, the pirates are being controlled by the computer   
but we fare just as well against human opponents."  
Wynssa hoped that either this sim was excedingly difficult (which it   
didn't appear to be) or that the 2/181st didn't see live combat often, as the mock   
battle wasn't going well at all. From her knowledge of simulator numeration,   
she could tell that the TIE squadron had begun with 2 to 1 odds and was down   
to its last three pilots against the computer, which still had four. She   
decided that it would not be politic to mention that she could probably   
outfly at least half the pilots currently simming. Men didn't find women as   
attractive after they realized that the women were better qualified and   
better skilled than they were, and while normally this courtesy was beyond   
Wynssa, she realized that this star treatment was based on her aesthetic   
qualities, not her true intelligence. She decided that Soontir's sqadron must   
be better if they took Ord Biinr   
singlehandedly.  
Derricote proceded on this "impressive" tour and led her into another   
connected room with targets lining the wall to the left about one hundred and   
fifty meters away.   
Funny, thought Wynssa, I would have thought the aim of the exercise   
was to hit the targets. She fought to keep from wincing as two pilots missed   
the targets by almost half a meter each time. My little brother shot better   
than these pilots . . . at age six.   
"And this is our firing range," Derricote informed her as if he   
assumed she had never before been in one. "I believe these are members of the 4/181st   
practicing now."  
"How impressive," Wynssa gushed. Seeming genuine in Cruel Intentions   
was easier than seeming genuine here, she thought.  
"Isn't it? Your Soontir's much better, though. He'll bullseye nine   
out of ten and scold his men if they can't."  
Wynssa's respect for Soontir was raised a notch, but she wondered if   
even "much better" than these pilots was a compliment.  
One of the pilots raised his blaster to fire again. She fought the impulse to   
correct his awful grip. Small wonder he can't hit the target.  
Derricote led her into another hallway ending in a large chamber lit   
brightly by growlamps recessed into the ceiling. Potted plants covered the   
floor space and hanging baskets draped down from the ceiling. About a third   
of the plants were in bloom, filling the room with vibrant color. Despite   
their ecclectic placing, the room didn't appear cluttered. "My pet project.  
Beatiful, no?"  
"Oh, yes," Wynssa breathed. It was her first sincere compliment of   
the afternoon.  
"These are my prized mycosia." He reached out and plucked a pale pink   
lily-like blossom. "So very difficult to grow, yet so beautiful when they do."   
He tucked the mycosia into her hair.  
"Why thank you. It's so beautiful." Wynessa instinctivly tucked back   
a strand of blonde hair, touched by the gesture. Fel's colleagues may be   
lacking in skill, she thought, but they do seem to exhibit a certain   
home-grown kindness.   
  
"Aren't they? Here's some choreopteris, and Corellian dhryliads, and   
ultraviolet orchids-the rarest kind, you know?- and Alderaani   
passionflower..."  
Wynssa had been listening intently to Derricote, but her attention   
had been drawn elsewhere. A tall, sweat soaked man in a jet-black flightsuit   
had just stepped into the doorway. His dark hair framed a strong yet suprisingly   
delicate face and his broodingly mysterious eyes seemed to smile absently, all of these   
reminisent of his obvious Corellian heritage.  
"General Derricote, you wished for me to report?" Major Soontir Fel   
surveyed the chamber after saluting Derricote.  
"Ah, yes, Soontir. You're attending the Holos this year with Miss   
Starflare here on the twenty-third."  
"Don't I have a patrol that day, sir?"  
"It's all taken care of. You have plenty of time to escort Miss   
Starflare to the holos, so don't even worry about that. Personally, I wish I   
was going but I don't have a beautiful actress girlfriend..." Yet, Derricote   
added mentaly.  
"Exscuse me, sirs," Wynssa interrupted. "My agent and I have a   
meeting with my producer in half an hour so if I may take my leave? General   
Derricote, thank you so much for the lovely tour of the 181st. It was a   
pleasure meeting you."  
"And a pleasure meeeting you too, my dear," he replied with a bow and a   
smile.  
"And, 'Tir, we are still meeting for dinner tonight?"  
"Of couse," Fel recovered quickly, flashing her a captivating smile,   
still startled by Derricote's apparent selfless generosity.  
Wynssa waved amiably as she walked out the door of the greenhouse.   
Apparently, meeting Derricote instead of Soontir had been a boon- he was   
going to the Vaders with her that year like it or not- but she knew he'd like   
it!  
  
*******  
  
"Lovely girl, isn't she, Soontir," Derricote commented admiringly.  
"Of course, sir."  
"Such shapely. . ." He stared a bit too closely at Wynssa's   
retreating hind side.  
"Assets, sir."  
"Precisely, Soontir, precisely. You certainly have fine taste in   
women."  
"Thank you, sir."  
"She doesn't happen to have a sister, does she?"  
"Not to my knowledge, sir."  
"How unfortunate. You must have met some of her actress friends, then, who   
you might possibly introduce me to?"  
"She doesn't speak of them much."  
Derricote sighed, half-exasperated and rather disapointed. "Well, go   
get ready for your date then."  
Soontir remained standing there at attention.  
Derricote rolled his eyes. "Dissmissed!"  
Soontir saluted and left.  
"By the maker," he muttered, "proper military protocol is fine in its   
proper time and place, but not in every single conversation. I honestly do   
not understand the man, I truly don't. . . " He trailed off into silence as   
he began to repot a plant in a larger container. 


	2. The Fans Await

The Actress's Lines   
  
By: Alderaani Writer's Guild   
  
Disclaimer: Hey! News flash here: We're STILL not Stackpole and Lucas and   
we STILL dont claim to be. We're STILL not getting paid so don't make us   
bite you!   
::CHOMP::   
  
******Chapter 2******   
  
Soontir looked up from his marinated nerfsteak. "So, Wynssa, what did you   
think of the 181st?"   
Wynssa briefly debated her response. To show her dismay at their   
ineptitude could offend him or hint at her background. To say that the men   
were skilled would be an outright lie which would also make her seem far more   
naieve then she would have him think. She settled on a neutral response.   
"They are rather, ah, kind, but as far as skill...I'm sure your   
squadron is better."   
He smiled. "They are."   
Wynssa nibbled delicately at her baked whitefish, absently relieved.   
"Did Derricote give you any trouble?" he enquired.   
"No, although I could tell he is not always the gentleman that you   
are."   
"He isn't."   
"I presume he is the cause for your warnings?"   
"The others wouldn't trouble the love interest of a ranking officer.   
They know better."   
She smiled at him. He may not have a stellar wing, she thought, but   
it's good to be protected. And escorted to the Vaders, and taken to nice   
restraunts for dinner, and fawned over, and complimented for her beauty. . .   
This was why she had left her home. She needed, even craved, attention and   
she would get it. All the galaxy took notice of Wynssa Starflare but an   
average working girl at a fuel station was so often ignored.   
"The 181st is downsizing from a wing to a group and will be made an   
elite unit. And they're moving us here to Imperial Center for the refit,"   
Soontir informed her.   
"You'll be stationed here?" She questioned excitedly, daring to hope   
such fortunate lightning could strike twice in one day   
"That's a good thing, right?" he teased.   
"Very good. The Emperor's wisdom is clearly limitless." Wynssa   
beamed greatfully.   
"Some of the new pilots have already taken their places in the   
181st."   
"Who?" It was a rare thing for shy Soontir to begin a conversation   
and Wynssa had no intention of styming his unusual loquacity.   
"Oh, Captin Phennir, a few lieutenants. It was difficult weeding out   
the sons of senators and elitists."   
"Shouldn't elitists be in an elite unit?" Wynssa questioned, absently   
confused.   
Soontir smiled. "No. Actually, they're rather useless in a fight."   
"I can imagine." Wynssa stifled a giggle. "You should see some of my   
co-stars. 'This bottled water is the wrong brand. Fix it!' 'Oh, Maker, I'm   
not touching all that fake blood!' 'Director, I simply can't work in this   
abominable heat!'" Wynssa mimicked the voices of the other actresses   
flawlessly.   
"That bad?"   
"Incredible, isn't it?"   
"And I may presume you're not the same?"   
"Oh, no, of course not. I even do my own stunts," she replied with a   
teasing smile. Wynssa mentally kicked herself for that last bit. She knew   
he'd seen Mission: Firebird, Center of Hope, and Angel's Reward, all   
action-adventure type films involving lots of firefights and space combat,   
much of which was done by her charachters. First, he'd ask her where she   
learned to fly like that; then, he'd ask her where she learned to shoot like   
that; finally, he'd ask her about her past which would lead to Wedge.   
"Please, Soontir, don't even ask. . ." she thought, afraid of the   
ramifications of such a tangent.   
"You fly well, then."   
"You're better." Far from a lie, she hoped. She could never lie to   
Soontir. "Now leave it at that," she mentally begged him.   
He merely smiled and finished off his dinner.   
  
*********   
  
Soontir surveyed the 4/181st as they fired low energy volleys from   
their blasters at the targets. This clearly explained Wynssa's rather   
noncommital responsed regarding the 181st. Unless, of course, some of the   
pilots falsely believed that one was not supposed to actually hit the target   
but shoot as close as possible to it without striking it. In that case,   
however, they were still doing a sad job of it, as one trigger-happy recruit   
had just tripped over his own two feet and misfired perfectly perpendicular   
to the correct target, nearly taking out another flight officer in the   
process. Still, he hoped they believed in not hitting the targets. It   
softened the blow.   
Captain Phennir attempted to correct Flight Officer Zaerece's grip,   
something that seemed futile but was showing small process. Phennir   
was clearly a good choice for the new, 'improved' 181st, possibly executive   
officer material. He flew well, shot well, and could teach others to do the   
same. Those that could be taught that is... Phennir was obviously very well   
disciplined, albeit a bit overzealous. The antipathy of Derricote in all   
aspects-- clearly, a good thing.   
Zaerece also had potential. If he could be convinced that Colonel   
Evir Derricote was not the source of all the wisdom in the galaxy he might   
become a decent soldier. Might. Then again, the power Derricote held over   
him exhibited such poor judgement, Fel couldn't help but shudder.   
"Easy," thought Fel, "This is the 181st. Cant expect TOO much.   
Have to take these things slow. Slow. Painfully slow..."   
While Fel was reviewing the attributes that might just save Zaerece's   
career, he began to argue with Phennir. "Well, I was always told to hold a   
blaster this way," he steadfastly maintained.   
"Well, whoever told you that was an idiot," Phennir stated, the man's   
insesantly stubborn ignorance grating his nerves. He hated baby sitting these   
men. It was like being in charge of a squadron of children flyboys, except   
they couldn't fly, couldn't shoot, couldn't calculate astro-nav and couldn't   
tie their own shoes. This was particularly sad since the men wore laceless   
boots. "That's probably the worst way to hold a blaster," he further   
admonished.   
"But Colonel Derricote said. . ."   
"He's wrong."   
Fel suddenly liked Phennir a great deal more. He was definitly XO   
material.   
"Hey, since when did you start contradicting your superiors anyways?"   
The 4/181st murmered in agreement with Zaerece's argument, peeved at being   
corrected by a "rookie".   
Soontir decided that things had gone far enough. "Flight Officer   
Zaerece, Captain Phennir is correct. Please handle this difficulty."   
"But Colonel Derricote said. . ."   
"You most likely misunderstood him," Fel said, being generous enough   
to not openly flame Derricote.   
"Yeah, but. . ."   
"That is enough, Flight Officer."   
Phennir glowed at his vindication as Zaerece sheepishly corrected his   
grip and immediately bulls-eyed the target on his next attempt. Phennir then   
began to correct everyone firing's grip with an almost comic air of   
self-rightousness.   
Soontir watched, amused. He briefly considered having Wynssa show   
them a thing or two, but she seemed evasive the previous evening and might   
not have been entirely honest either. Fel also didn't want to push   
extricating the details of her past, for he too understood what it was to   
have a backround that wasn't open for discussion. She did, undeniably, seem   
to know at a good bit about sims and shooting, which was good. It was nice to   
know that Wynssa Starflare was a bit more than a nice peice of eye candy.   
  
***********   
  
Soontir glanced at the one small mirror in the locker room, checking   
to make sure that his uniform was buttoned with his typical military   
precision, his name plate polished, his rank bar straight, his shoes neatly   
tied and so forth. An hour or so in the weight room was always relaxing, and   
today more so because Phennir babysat the incompetents in his stead. For the   
first time in weeks, no one overexerted their muscles, used a machine wrong,   
or dropped a weight on their own, or someone else's, feet. For the first   
time in weeks, his work out had consisted of a self constructed regimine,   
rather than spotting some one with the IQ of a Dagobah Yam or carrying a   
flight officer to med-bay.   
"So I said to her, 'Hey Wynssa, I'm your biggest fan', and she was   
like 'oh, that's so nice to hear', and does she have a nice ass or what?"   
Zaerece bragged in the background, his stream of thought having the coherence   
of his blaster grip.   
"Gee, I heard you just made a nice ass of yourself," commented his   
friend, Trent Fryske, a lieutenant who had been in his graduating class at   
the academy. "What's your name again?" he chided.   
Soontir turned around at the mention of Wynssa just in time to see   
Zaerece open his locker. It was literally a shrine to Wynssa Starflare. Every   
metal surface was coated in taped-up printouts of Starflare. Most were not   
lewd, however, he had copies of some promotional advertisements for Raunchy,   
including pics from the scenes that earned the film the R rating,   
involving her in various states of barely censored undress.   
Zaerece noticed his wandering gaze. "Um, Major, sir, did you need to   
talk to me about something, sir?" He asked this, edging over in a poor attempt   
to hide the locker from his friend, as well as Fel.   
"Zaerece," he began, the usual tolerance leaving his voice, "What the   
hell did you do to your locker?"   
"Just hung up some, um, motivational pictures, sir," he replied,   
inching between Soontir and his locker.   
"Which would, incidentally, involve the good Major's, how do I put it,   
latest flame..." Fryske insinuated.   
"Well, that much's not my fault." Zaerece attempted to defend himself.   
"I've loved Wynssa ever since I saw her first holodrama, One for the Emperor,   
and I've always had Wynssa Starflare holos all over my room and locker and   
stuff since well before Major Fel ever stared seeing her and I don't think I   
should have to change just because he gets the priviledge of dating her..."   
"And all the corollary benefits thereof...," Fryske interrupted,   
rather childishly.   
"And I don't!" Zaerece finished in a rush.   
By this time, Fel was more concered than angry. Clearly, Zaerece's   
obsession had already grown to ridiculous proportions- not that Fel could   
blame him, personally knowing how wonderful Wynssa was off-screen as well.   
Zaerece stood waiting for the angry wrath of Major Soontir Fel to fall upon   
him. It was inevitable. His crime was heinous. Even Colonel Derricote would   
punish him for his offense. To his surprise, however, Fel stood silent.   
"Flight Officer Zaerece," he began calmly, much to everyone's   
surprise, including his own, "perhaps you should focus your affections less   
upon one woman you will never have and look more to those you will." Fel   
curbed the temptation to add, 'Whom you will most likely have to pay.'   
"Yes, sir," answered Zaerece, still in shock.   
Fel left the locker room, intent upon escaping Zaerece and the   
others' presences. He could still hear Fryske and the others laughing as he   
strode down the hallway. Hopefully, Zaerece would realized the foolishness of   
his obsession. It didn't seem likely.   
As Fel sighed, heading down the corridor, he couldn't help but feel a   
little bit smug at his good fortune. And Zaerece's envy.   
  
*********   
  
Wynssa ran through the dance routine with her choreographer for the   
upteenth time. 'One, TWO, three, FOUR, five, SIX, seven, EIGHT' pounded   
through her brain over and over again, along with the corresponding sequence   
of movement. Sometimes she wondered why she bothered, but then she thought of   
'Tir and everything seemed worthwhile. What had started as a casual   
friendship was soon becoming a serious romance.   
"Yes, yes!" The choreographer interrupted her thoughts. "Exactly   
right! Now one more time, with correct steps and emotion! Emotion, Wynssa,   
emotion!"   
She sighed and repeated the sequence, this time to his satisfaction.   
"Veggies would have loved watching this," she thought. "He always came to my   
dance classes to watch. At the end of a song he'd yell 'Yay, Syal!' or   
something cute like that. I wonder if he's seen any of my movies?" She almost   
hoped he hadn't. All the B-rated flicks with stories so bad a six-year-old   
could improve upon them, the ones edging beyond receiving an "R" rating, the   
ones she'd tried to get the script altered on but couldn't because she was   
just starting out and no one would listen to her... She missed Wedge more   
than anyone else. He was so sweet and cute and completely oblivious to all   
that was wrong with the galaxy- the only Corellian kindergartener whose two   
best friends were a Drall and a girl, C'van and Mirax. She hoped they were   
all still friends. She always hated it when her parents demanded she watch   
him, yet somehow if he asked to play she never minded. "Maybe it just seems   
that way now that I've lost him..."   
Syal suddenly stopped, a shap pang of guilt permeating her mind at   
memory of the small boy she had abandoned years ago.   
"Miss Starflare, I think we're done for the evening. Don't forget   
the lyrics to 'Stay With Me Always' and you'll be fine opening night."   
"Thanks," she replied, trying not to sound so exhausted.   
She picked up her tote and headed for the door, hoping it was all worth it...


End file.
